


tis the season

by itllbeall-dwight (dupesoclock)



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dupesoclock/pseuds/itllbeall-dwight
Summary: Meg moved her hand, letting it hover for a moment to check her balance before she began to file the string of lights into it, reaching above her head to hang them along the roof of the killer shack. She strained to reach the hooks to hang the final line, sticking her tongue out to concentrate as she finally hooked them on, letting the rest of the string go to fall and sway in the cold and silent wind. “OK, there we go. Done!”The other survivor let out a quiet sigh of relief, shaking a little as he lowered himself enough for Meg to safely jump off his shoulders, grass crunching under her feet with an expert landing.“Now onto the next one.”--the realm is getting festive, whether the killers have a say in it or not.
Relationships: Meg Thomas & Quentin Smith
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	tis the season

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS. SUPER LATE IM SO STUPID.
> 
> i wrote this for the dbd secret Santa on tumblr, here's the [link](https://itwillbeall-dwight.tumblr.com/post/638600534627139584/tis-the-season) to that! hope you all had a great holiday season, especially after how terrible this year was \o/

“Hey, steady, Quentin!”

“I’m  _ trying _ !” came a strained and annoyed bark in response. “But you keep moving, a-and I don’t know where you’re going!”

“Sorry, sorry! Just a couple more- go right, please!”

Quentin grumbled, stepping to the right slightly as instructed, tightening his grip around Meg’s ankles as she pushed a hand onto his head, keeping herself steady on his shoulders, her other hand wrapped around a long string of Christmas lights.

Time was a tricky thing in the fog. With no daytime, and trials taking place in places frozen in time, all the survivors had to go off of was a gut feeling, and maybe wishful thinking, to know when to celebrate a holiday from home. And so, after a handful of bad trails that sent group morale into a freefall, a genius idea from Kate to just… decide that it was Christmas was (mostly) accepted nu the rest of the campfire. Altruism was heavily practised, old ugly sweater had been dug out of chests, and a secret santa had been organised thanks to Steve and Laurie, not to mention Meg’s current effort - decorating the realms as best she could, starting with the old Macmillan estate.

It had been a long and arduous process - the Legion had handed over most of the old and broken decorations the resort had with much bribery from Jeff and Felix, and the Doctor had no choice but to offer the wired and electrical equipment the institute had once Nea and Jake had made their way inside. And now, with David in a trial, the athlete had turned to her next best option to make the fog more festive-

Quentin let out a quiet yell as she grabbed at his head again, this time curling his hair into her fist to maintain balance. “D-Do you mind  _ not _ doing that?!”

“Well  _ sorry _ I don’t wanna eat dirt, dude! Almost done, promise.” Meg moved her hand, letting it hover for a moment to check her balance before she began to file the string of lights into it, reaching above her head to hang them along the roof of the killer shack. She strained to reach the hooks to hang the final line, sticking her tongue out to concentrate as she finally hooked them on, letting the rest of the string go to fall and sway in the cold and silent wind. “OK, there we go. Done!”

The other survivor let out a quiet sigh of relief, shaking a little as he lowered himself enough for Meg to safely jump off his shoulders, grass crunching under her feet with an expert landing.

“Now onto the next one.”

“...There’s more?”

“Well, duh! There’s the old ironworks, the coal tower, the oil drill, the mines,” The athlete counted on her fingers as she spoke, not noticing the way Quentin’s already tired expression continued to fall. “-And that’s just here on the estate.”

He blinked, sighing and pinching his nose, voice lowering to a mutter as he closed his eyes. “Why me?”

And when he opened his eyes again, he was met by Meg, who had moved to meet his gaze with a well-intentioned smirk. “Because you have my back Quentin. Your heart’s in the right place, and you need some Christmas cheer, you… humbug.”

He recoiled as she reached out to touch his nose, sniffling and rubbing it with the back of his sleeve, trying to hide his already flush face that was going even redder. “I-I was talking to  _ myself _ , but… thanks, I-”

He was cut off by a noise that made them both stand to attention - the noise of a heavy, rumbling footstep, and one that was uncomfortably close. Meg spoke up first. “What was that?”

“I-I don’t know- ah!’ He jumped at another noise, his eyes darting around before he looked back at her. “I think it’s time we- ...why are you looking at me like that?”

She slowly moved her hand to grab his wrist, her grip firm but not painful, her face pale as she looked up just behind him, at the figure casting a moonlit shadow on his back, one that had ascended the stairs of the killer shack’s basement to check on the noise outside, it seemed. Meg swallowed, lowering her voice as she replied. “It’s Krampus.”

Quentin barely had a chance to register what was happening, tripping over his own feet as Meg began running, dragging him behind her, feeling the wind of a machete swing against his back as he tried to keep up with her sprint. Daring to steal a glance behind him, he caught sight of the Trapper, purveyor of the Macmillan estate, intently in pursuit of the trespassers on his property. He swallowed, turning back to Meg again. “Uhhhh-”

“I know, I know, I’m working on it!” She barked back, clearly feeling the glare on her back as the killer got closer, panic rising in her voice. “Can you run faster?!”

“I’m  _ trying _ ! I was a swimmer, not a sprinter!”

They dodged through walls and what little covered the estate had, trying to lose the killer who, reasonably so, didn’t care too much for the unwarranted company. And though it seemed he was simply slashing at them to get them to leave faster, like a dog nipping at their heels, the fear of death was still very much real, all the way to the exit, where Meg and Quentin stumbled back into the fog, finally able to catch their breath as the adrenaline died down. 

It was Quentin that said something first, letting out a breathless laugh as he crouched down, trying to stop the feeling of his chest caving in on itself, and the heartbeat in his ears. “Holy shit, we’re alive. We’re alive!”

“Yeah… yeah, we are.” Meg exhaled a sigh of relief, holding the back of her hips as she stretched her back, looking down on him. “...Maybe that was a little stupid, so I’m sorry-”

“No, I… think it was me. I was really loud.”

“Still, I- I should have known not to go there, just the two of us, so… agree to disagree?”

He looked up to meet her eyes, and her sheepish expression, tiredly smiling. “...Yeah, sure.”

The athlete laughed, offering him a hand and pulling him to his feet when he accepted, keeping her grip on it for a moment as her lips pulled into a small smirk. “So… when’s the next time I can get you to do this?”

There was a pause, before they both started laughing, walking back into the fog. Quentin took his hand back as they did, shoving it back into his pocket. “Bring an army, then I’ll consider it.”

“Ha! Humbug.”


End file.
